


Show Me What's Real

by walkamongstthestars



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: Anal, Dirty Talk, Graphic Language, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Going to Hell, M/M, Rimming, Rough Sex, Violent Language, ummm idk gay babies honestly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:01:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21536386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walkamongstthestars/pseuds/walkamongstthestars
Summary: Pete discovers a particularly disturbing piece of hate mail, and only Chasten knows what he needs to forget the hatred, and remember the good.
Relationships: Chasten Buttigieg/Peter Buttigieg
Comments: 12
Kudos: 49





	Show Me What's Real

Pete checks his watch as he walks into his office, wary of how late he is. When the press finds out he’s back in South Bend for a stretch, the gaggles are always following him. He sees his mother sitting at her usual desk, a few stacks of paper neatly arranged by envelopes and campaign stickers. 

“Hey, mom, sorry I’m so late, I --” Pete stops short, noticing Anne wiping surreptitiously at her face. “Mom?”

“Oh, hi, sweetheart. Don’t worry, I was just getting caught up with some, ah,” she swallows, removes her glasses and dabs at each eye. Clearing her throat, she composes herself in the same studied way she’s passed on to her son. “Just some letters.”

“Mom…” Pete’s voice is cautiously stern, and he drops his laptop bag and briefcase to sit opposite her. 

“It’s fine, Peter. Really. There were just some that made me more emotional than I was expecting,” she smooths her hair and smiles at him. 

“Oh, that’s… good. I have a minute, I’d like to take a look --”

“No! No, I mean - you have so much work to do. I’ll answer this one later,” Anne folds the letter up and tucks it underneath a pile of unopened mail. Pete eyes it warily, but concedes for the moment. He unearths his laptop and notepad, draining his coffee, before plunging headlong into work.

Before he leaves for the night, while Anne is distracted, Pete slips the letter from under the paper stack and secretes it into his briefcase. No harm done, right? Right.

\------------------------------

Chasten fights between an excited Buddy and Truman, and the lock on the front door. He knows Pete had a long day so he took the dogs out in an attempt to tire them. He is willing to acknowledge it was a long shot.

When he closes the door and unleashes the dogs, setting them free, he calls out to Pete.

“Peter? Where are you hiding, babe?”

When he hears a soft thud and the scratch of chair legs on hardwood floor, Chasten proceeds to the dining area. 

“I walked the dogs so they’d -- Peter, what’s wrong?” Chasten takes Pete by the arms upon seeing his red-rimmed eyes and tired look.

“It’s -- It’s nothing, Chasten. Just a bad letter. I don’t know why it got to me…” Pete gestures towards the letter on the dining table -- two pages, formerly folded into thirds and now slightly crumpled from repeated handling. Chasten moves to pick it up and Pete stops him, a pleading look on his face. 

“Love, it’s not worth it.”

“You’re in pain. I need to know why you’re in pain.” 

Pete sighs, closing his eyes and curls his hand around Chasten’s. 

“Just another bully filled with hatred. It has no bearing on our lives or campaign -- it’s just disturbing and I shouldn’t have read it.”

Chasten searches Pete’s face, then places a hand on his cheek. 

“I love you, but you punish yourself too much. Share the burden.” 

Pete tries to stop him, but to no avail. Chasten sweeps up the crinkled pages and walks into the living area to plop down on the couch. 

“Beer me,” Chasten calls out, adjusting his glasses. 

“‘Beer me’? Are you serious?” Pete chuckles. Nevertheless, he goes to the kitchen for the requested beer. 

“What? I can be a cool guy.” 

Pete just shakes his head as he hands Chasten the beer. 

“Just… don’t read the whole thing. It’s not worth it.”

Chasten raises an eyebrow but returns his focus to the pages in his hand. He gets two lines in before he takes a long swig from the bottle, and shifts forward. Two more lines and Pete nearly reaches for the letter as he watches the blood drain from Chasten’s face.

“Well, at least they used the correct grammar while detailing how they’d like to gang bang me and slice me in half,” Chasten says finally, staring at the words in front of him. 

“It’s fucking disgusting,” Pete says, sitting down across from Chasten and carding a hand through his hair. 

“...’Split open your faggot hole with my cock, see how you like that’, what, is this some sort of terrible fanfiction gone wrong?” Chasten flips through the two pages as though there’s a secret answer hidden somewhere among the insulting text.

“Please, Chasten, let’s just --”

“...’Fucking faggots like you shouldn’t be allowed around kids, you ought to be fucked and burned like the sorry, trash excuses of humans you are’, they’re very inventive, I’ll give them that. Burning is a new one.”

“Chasten.”

Chasten sighs and tosses the pages down. Removing his glasses, he rubs his eyes. 

“What do you want me to say, Peter? It’s not particularly anything I haven’t heard. But that doesn’t make it less awful. Why did you read this, anyway? You don’t normally spend that much time with these…”

Pete clears his throat, another tear threatening to run down his face. He tries to swallow past the lump in his throat, but his voice comes out weak and cracking when he replies.

“Mom read it first.”

Chasten gasps. 

“Is she alright?” 

“She wouldn’t say, she just told me that it made her more emotional than usual. She didn’t even want me to read it.”

“I’m not surprised, this is pretty heavy stuff. Something she probably hasn’t heard directed toward her son, yet,” Chasten admits.

“I can’t believe she -- how do I handle this? How do I look at her, knowing…” Pete waves a hand in the direction of the letter and hangs his head. 

“Babe.”

Pete grunts.

“Babe.”

“Yes?” He doesn’t look up.  
Chasten moves to stand behind Pete’s chair, gently guiding him to sit upright and lean back against Chasten. Stroking his shoulder with one hand, Chasten smooths Pete’s hair back with another, humming quietly. 

“Peter, I know you try not to let these things affect you, but it’s okay to be vulnerable sometimes,” Chasten continues to pet Pete’s head, squeezing his shoulder lightly.

Pete sighs, closing his eyes, unable to release the tension in his body. 

“I just — “ Pete stops and grimaces, clenching a hand on his knee. Chasten strokes the hand on his shoulder up Pete’s neck and holds his head in place while pressing a lingering kiss into his hair. 

“You just what, babe?” 

Pete is silent for a few long moments, and Chasten worries Pete is retreating too far. He rounds the chair and kneels in front of Pete, taking his hand and kissing it once, twice, three times.

“Please talk to me, Peter.”

Pete finally makes eye contact and leans forward to clasp both hands around Chasten’s. 

“Sometimes… sometimes these words — these words used against us feel like the knife I...” Pete swallows, wincing and gripping Chasten’s hand harder. 

Chasten freezes and then forces himself to unclench. He reaches to hold Pete’s cheek and takes off his glasses, allowing a tear to escape. 

“‘The pen is mightier than the sword’.”

Pete chuckles.

“Edward Bulwer-Lytton?” The corner of Pete’s mouth twitches up slightly.

“Indiana Jones. But also the 19th Century English author. Both seemed relevant.” Chasten shrugs slightly.

Pete watches him carefully.

“Words can be more powerful than the weapons we try to make of them. Conversely, Peter, you have the power to blot out those words. You already are. You’ve scratched out the worst lines in my life. Don’t let them scratch out the best of yours,” he explains.

Pete closes his eyes, letting the tears fall and resting his forehead against Chasten’s. Finally, he sniffs and laughs wetly. 

“What?” Chasten looks at him earnestly.

“You always know what to say, Chasten. Always. Always.”

“And you always know how to listen.” 

Pete breathes in heavily, leaning back and looking down at their clasped hands. He sniffs again, and Chasten tries to make eye contact.

“Peter, do you need me to listen?”

Pete keeps looking at their hands, eyes lost. Chasten squeezes his hand and brushes his hair back. 

“Babe?” Pete won’t make eye contact, and Chasten rubs his thumb along Pete’s ring finger.

Pete, still hanging his head, has an uncharacteristically frightened look in his eyes.

“What do you need?”

Pete raises his head at that, looking at Chasten with heartbreakingly terrified and vulnerable eyes. 

“What. Do. You. Need?” Chasten asks again, moving his hand to rub Pete’s leg.

“I… don’t know?” Pete looks at Chasten, brow furrowed. 

“You do. But I need you to say it,” Chasten says. 

Pete’s look of confusion and fear finally dissipates and he swallows again, closing his eyes. 

“Fine. You know me too well, I think,” he lays a hand over Chasten’s on his leg. 

“Not possible. Say it.”

Pete takes in a ragged breath before he whispers, “fuck me, Chasten. Please, love. I need… I need you to fuck me hard. I need to--”

“Forget?” Chasten cuts him off, smirking slightly.

Pete just looks at him, pupils already dilating.

Chasten smiles lovingly and takes Pete’s hand in his, pulling him to stand. He links his arms over Pete’s shoulders and kisses him softly. 

“As you wish.”

Before Pete can respond in any way, Chasten grips his hair and pulls, bending Pete’s head back slightly and pulling the collar of his shirt away to sink his teeth into Pete’s shoulder. Pete breathes out raggedly and clutches Chasten’s back, already fighting to stay focused. 

After licking soothingly at the gentle bite mark, Chasten pulls away and grabs Pete’s hand, pulling him to the stairs. Pete stumbles after him and they fumble their way up, stopping occasionally while Chasten presses Pete against the wall and grinds into him. 

Pete, already going weak at the knees, lets Chasten push and pull him to their bedroom, relishing the bruising force of each clash of lips and teeth. Once the door is closed, Chasten gathers his arms under Pete’s legs and hoists him against the wall, Pete’s legs immediately wrapping around his body. Chasten can feel his hardening cock even through the layers of their jeans, and Pete can barely breathe. 

Chasten knows all the tricks to make Pete forget — so he leans in, puffing warm air against Pete’s neck — and pulls Pete’s earlobe between his teeth to worry at it. Pete lets out a strangled gasp.

“You know what you do to me, Peter,” Chasten breathes against the notch behind Pete’s ear. “I am going to make you feel that one hundred times over.”

Pressed firmly against the wall by Chasten’s hips, Pete grips helplessly at the short hair at the nape of Chasten’s neck. After undoing a couple buttons of Pete’s shirt, Chasten insinuates a hand onto his chest and twists at a nipple with no regard for gentleness. He can tell Pete is trying to regulate his breathing and bite back a startled reaction, so Chasten redoubles his effort. 

Resting their foreheads together, he stares into Pete’s unusually unfocused eyes and drags a blunt thumbnail over the already tortured nipple, digging the fingers of his other hand with bruising force into the meat of Pete’s ass. This draws several gasps and strangled curses, and Chasten smiles mischievously. 

“I’m going to need more of that before I do anything else, Peter.” 

Pete’s head rolls against Chasten’s and he groans, tightening his legs further around Chasten’s waist.

“I don’t — please, don’t stop — “

“Then tell me how this feels,” Chasten digs his thumb into the hardened nub of Pete’s nipple, nails scraping against the taut pectoral skin. “Do I have to fuck you with the massager and leave you whimpering, or can you — “

Pete’s head thuds back against the wall and he breathes out raggedly.

“Shit, shit, Chasten, no. Please fuck me, I need to feel you, you’re so fucking hot,” he responds. 

“And this?” Chasten slides his hand down Pete’s front, forcing his way into tight jeans to roughly grab at Pete’s cock. “This is mine. You’re mine, every inch, no one else can even think of touching you. No one.”

“Yes, God, yes Chasten. Show me how I’m yours.”

“There, was that so hard?” Chasten can’t help chuckling at his own joke. Pete just looks wrecked and frustrated. 

Chasten releases his grip on Pete, and Pete takes the cue to let his legs fall. His knees give out slightly, and Chasten catches him, nimbly undoing his belt and jeans. Once those are removed, Chasten grabs either edge of Pete’s shirt and pulls, buttons flying.

Pete starts to protest, but Chasten simply grabs his balls and squeezes, leaning back in to growl, ”Mine. My rules, my decisions. You have fifteen of these shirts and one of me, which do you choose?”

Pete quickly finishes shedding his shirt and stands, slightly wobbly, hair spiked with a flush spreading beautifully across his chest. 

“Good choice,” Chasten says. He pulls Pete and shoves him onto the bed, sinking to his knees. He folds Pete’s legs back, unceremoniously shoving his tongue into Pete’s hole, wringing a shocked cry out of the squirming man. Chasten remembers the first time he did this to Pete, and how Pete had subsequently asked him in all of those famous seven languages to please, God, do it again. All Chasten had said at the time was false idols, Peter, false idols, earning him one of the glares he had taught his husband. 

This time, Pete’s breath is hitching every time he tries to speak, but Chasten knows if he licks a broad stripe from his hole to his balls and then sucks at the puckered flesh, Pete will forget every language he’s ever seen. 

Pete’s fists curl into the sheets, eyes squeezing shut and brows furrowing as Chasten sucks and bites into the fleshy parts of Pete’s thighs. 

Once Pete has thrown an arm over his eyes and is groaning loudly, Chasten leans back and flips him onto his front, pushing him onto hands and knees. Relishing the uneven dynamic of Pete’s bare body to Chasten’s fully clothed one, Chasten opens his own jeans just enough to pull his cock out, stroking a few times and grounding himself. 

Not wanting to waste more time, he retrieves the lube from the bedside table and coats two fingers. One hand briefly rubs up and down Pete’s back before curling both fingers of the other inside smoothly and quickly. Pete’s head drops and he moans loudly. 

“Fuck, that — feels so good, Chasten. Keep — I need more, love,” Pete’s voice comes out thin and desperate, and Chasten basks in it. 

“You want me to fuck you?” He curls his middle finger to find the spot and presses mercilessly, and Pete grabs a pillow to muffle a shout. “Hm?” Now the index finger curls. Pete just whimpers, so Chasten leans over and wrests the pillow from under Pete’s face. 

“I need to hear you, babe,” Chasten chides. 

“Oh fuck,” Pete cries as Chasten makes small massaging motions on his prostate. 

“Say it, or I stop.”

Pete sobs and bites his fist as Chasten begins to withdraw his fingers, before realizing Chasten has no intention of reinserting them. Keening, he presses his ass back towards Chasten desperately. 

“Come on, babe. You need me. You need me to fuck you, right? To fuck you straight into the mattress?” Chasten has moved to lightly rubbing Pete’s perineum, so light Pete can hardly stand it.

“Yes, yes, that. I need your cock, Chasten, I need you to fuck me until I — until I can’t think.”

“You need my big, hard cock?” 

“You — God damnit, yes, love, please. Give it to me, I want you to — to split me open with your fucking gorgeous cock,” Pete gasps out, hands clenching rhythmically against the sheets as Chasten’s fingers trace around his balls and hole. 

“Better,” Chasten replies, pouring more lube into his hand before inserting three fingers and scissoring upon entry. Pete screams. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck me, yes,” Pete’s crying, heaving sobbing breaths. 

“Bossy,” Chasten smirks, and he can practically feel Pete’s eyes roll. “As you wish.”

He stretches his fingers a few more moments, feeling the muscles loosen just enough to where he won’t hurt Pete. At least, not too much.

Before Pete can register what’s happening, Chasten has withdrawn his fingers and slicked up his own cock, grabbing Pete’s hips sliding in all the way in one smooth motion. 

“Ohh, my God — oh f — oh!” Pete groans, letting the burn spread through his nerves as Chasten pounds into him and digs his fingers deep into his slim hips. “You feel so fucking good.”

“I know,” Chasten smiles, then licks his lips as he shoves his hips as hard as he can, causing Pete to skid forward slightly. “C’mon babe, come on.” He pulls Pete’s body back against him in counterpoint, using the momentum of their bodies to increase the pace. Pete arches his back and grabs blindly at the headboard to steady himself as he focuses on the sweet sensation of Chasten’s cock filling him, stretching him. 

“I need — I need — fuck” Pete moans, only distantly aware that the bed is hitting the wall over and over. 

“What, Peter?” Chasten breathes, his own composure waning as he feels Pete’s hole tightening invitingly. 

“My cock. Please, touch me, baby,” Pete pleads. 

Chasten considers forcing him to come on his cock, but instead he reaches around and tugs forcefully. 

“That it? That what you need?” 

After a resounding total of five hard pulls, Pete is shouting and coming, coming, coming. 

Chasten can feel each pulse of his cock in his hand and the accompanying twitch of his hole, enveloping Chasten’s cock in warmth and pressure. He tugs a few more times on Pete’s cock, wringing pained whimpers from him, before Chasten resettles his hand on Pete’s hip. 

“Never forget you’re mine,” Chasten whispers, leaning over Pete’s bent form as he pumps fast and sloppy, Pete gripping the sheets and whining. Chasten is unashamed that he gets off on hearing his husband so debauched, and he quickly feels his own orgasm building and hitting a crescendo. He comes hard, feeling Pete’s used hole fluttering in sympathy. 

Gasping, Chasten pulls out and collapses next to Pete, his body warm and limp. Pete is still lying face down, his knees having given out. 

After minutes of silence save for their shared ragged breathing, Chasten looks over.

“Good?” 

Pete grunts, the side of his face mushed into the bed and sweat trickling down his neck. 

“Babe.”

Pete cracks open an eye and offers a weak smile, fumbling to entwine their hands. 

“Perfect,” he replies.


End file.
